The Inter-House Mystery Pen-Pal Extravaganza!
by SalazarInADress
Summary: After the worst year for inter-house violence since 1728, Dumbledore takes serious action. Snape isn't happy about it, but then he never is - could his new pen-pal change that?
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** **The Inter-House Mystery Pen-Pal Extravaganza!**  
 **Written for:** myself xD feel free to send requests if you like though  
 **Prompts:** Every pen-pal or mystery admirer fic ever written  
 **Ratings and Warnings:** NONE  
 **Word Count:** About 7.5k total  
 **Summary:** Post-war professors SNUPIN fic, for the most part doesn't mention either war or any ex-students. SLASH without actual smex. Just confusion.  
Dumbledore decides that the violence and bullying between houses is getting out of hand, and devises a game that will help cross the growing rift. Even the grumpy potions master must take part. Will he last the entire month before his pen-pal realises who it is? And other gripping questions, answered in six short chapters.  
 **Author notes:** I have no beta. I'm quite confident in my writing, but pacing is always off. For this I apologise in advance :3 Please leave a review if you like it, because I have awful self-loathing habits.

**THIS WORLD AND ITS CHARACTERS ARE NOT MY PROPERTY AND I MAKE NO MONEY FROM THEM. I JUST LOVE THEM AND ALSO WANT THEM TO LOVE EACH OTHER**

CHAPTER 1

It was November the third, the beginning of that awkward time between Halloween and Christmas when the level of excitement within the hall was usually low. There was no upcoming party or celebration, no ball for almost two blessed months, and yet the great hall of Hogwarts was filled with the kind of annoying buzz that was normally only associated with celebrity visits or mass poisonings.

Professor Severus Snape raised his head minutely, only enough to stare at the culprit – the cause of his current growing headache – from behind his usual shroud of wiry black hair. Albus was settling into his chair, a picture perfect portrait of grandfatherly innocence despite having made the announcement that had set the hall ablaze with noise. No wonder he had been so adamant that Severus should attend dinner tonight.

There was to be an event, of sorts, lasting one month. Put another way, there were thirty days of torture on the way for one always suspecting potions master.

It was to be an inter-house mystery pen-pal extravaganza. A chance for teachers and students alike to make fools of themselves and each other while fixing what Albus called "the worst year for inter-house rivalry and violence since 1728."

What rubbish! Severus snorted at the thought. There was no problem with inter-house violence this or any other year. Yes, his Slitherins had taken a bit of a battering since the war – labels, accusations, curses and maybe one or two explosions. And yes, they had retaliated in kind or worse, perhaps with some quiet encouragement from a certain dark robed mentor, but really!

There was no need for such extreme measures.

Of course, such things as common sense and reason were far below Albus' warped logic, and cancelling the event now would cause riots. He had no choice now but to go along with it... But that didn't mean he was going to make it easy.

Severus pushed mashed potato around his plate for a few minutes, deep in thought. He would likely end up matched with some second year Hufflepuff chit who would only rave endlessly about her crush or favourite boy-band. Augh, the kind who would dot her 'i's with a heart.

He would rather die.

A quick eavesdropping charm made him scowl further. There were already titters going about, children putting bets on which unfortunate student would get matched up with the dreaded potions master, and how long it would take for them to realise who it was. So far, the odds were heavily in favour of "after the first message", and the longest available option was day three.

He stood abruptly, tossing his cutlery at the table in disgust. He could exit through the side door, which would take him more quickly to his quarters, but his old spy habits were yet to die so he made instead for the main doors, walking between the Slitherin and Ravenclaw tables.

As he passed, student after student quickly stuffed what looked like ticket stubs into their pockets. Bet slips. Worthy of a few deducted points, were most of them not in Slitherin.

To hell with them all!

He didn't want to participate in this stupid game, and so he would not. Albus could not force him to do anything.

He paused at the door momentarily before stepping over the threshold into the corridor outside.

Strictly speaking, Albus _could_ force him to do almost anything, and he would have to comply under his parole regulations. But still! He would make it such a miserable experience that Albus would never think to try such a thing again.

He passed no one on his way to the dungeons, which only made him angrier. No house points to take or detentions to give out. There was only one option now.

He slumped into the chair next to his writing desk and spelled open a secret compartment. The wood panelling along the left edge of the desk opened out with a click. He then cast another two spells to release the wards and notice-me-not charm. A moment later, the top of a cork faded into view sticking out from the hidden compartment.

He pulled it out with a satisfied smile. This was not just any old bottle, but Dragon's Resolve no. 12. The label had long peeled off, though the cork was intact. It was used, back in the 1760's, as a test for would-be dragon hunters wanting to join a guild. If they could stomach just one finger of Resolve, then they would be accepted.

Severus had never opened the bottle, as it was dangerous to let oxygen inside. Instead, he took a tumbler and carefully transferred a measure across using his wand.

As soon as it touched air, the liquid glowed red then white, and the surface blazed in sudden flame. Severus replaced the bottle in its hiding place, wards and all, then sat back to stare into his glass.

Never mind Old Ogden's, this was the king of fire whiskey.

His mind returned to Albus and his silly schemes, and he once again grew angry.

He didn't want to spend a single day, let alone a month, speaking to any student - or staff member - of Hogwarts, and they most certainly wouldn't want to speak with him. So what was the point? There was nothing at all to be gained by his taking part.

And the betting! Damn students and their 'three days'. As if he couldn't go longer, if he wanted to.

Why were they so damned interested anyway? He could be civil if he tried, he just never did. And if he did write those silly messages, then he would make it to the end of the thirty days with no one guessing his identity. He hadn't spent so many years as a spy and double agent for nothing – he was perfectly capable of hiding things.

Though the honesty charm on the enchanted parchment would make it tricky... If he couldn't outright lie then he would have to lie by exemption, or say half-truths. There were things he could truthfully say that no one would ever attribute to him. For instance, who would put him down for a master of the air guitar? Not his students, certainly.

He made a quick mental list of all the people who had ever walked in on him playing imaginary tunes in the dorm room, and realised that they were now all dead. He hadn't liked any of them, and it meant his secrets were forever safe, but somehow this thought drove him to down the rest of his drink. He shed his cloak in the following rush of heat.

There was no lying allowed, but everything else was fair game. He could hardly be responsible for people getting the wrong impression. There were too many gullible fools out there, and that wasn't his fault, was it?

Yes, this could work. He could write the message in Snape-speak on ordinary parchment first, then translate it into young people language. He could make it work, and prove a point.

Not that he wanted to. It was just a childish thought, to reassure himself that they were all wrong. He was sneakier than they gave him credit for, and it wasn't as if there was anyone left who knew what he was really like. Lilly was long gone, as were Regulus and the Malfoys.

There was no reason for him to take part, he thought angrily. He stood, paced the room twice, then stopped by his desk once more. He glanced to the far corner, where he had initially set aside space for incoming and outgoing post. The former did have a pile, three or four letters he didn't want to open, the youngest of which was over six months old. Next to that was an empty space that had been gathering dust since last Christmas.

No reason at all.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

(edit: formatting doesn't translate from openoffice, duh! Have now put Snape's first draft in bold, Snape's pen-pal messages in italics and his pen-pal's messages are normal. If you find this confusing or have a better suggestion then feel free to drop me a message) 

It was three days later that he joined the breakfast table and found a small square of parchment placed neatly over his plate. He frowned, flicking it out of the way with his fork.

He didn't have a message planned, because he wasn't going to send one.

He spent breakfast carefully watching the hall, cataloguing reactions. He was surprised by the enthusiastic uptake even in his own house, with many choosing to write as soon as the parchments appeared. There were next to no first years left, and very few second years. Traitors.

Severus' parchment stayed still and silent, thankfully.

The other professors chose to leave their messages for later, though Sybil received one. He could only imagine how she would reply.

He excused himself early from the meal, as was usual for him, and made sure to leave his parchment next to his plate. Just as he reached the end of the table, a delicate but purposeful cough made him pause and turn. Minerva, doing her best impression of that awful Umbridge woman, smiled and plucked the parchment from the table, holding it out to him.

He scowled in return, snatching it from her fingers and thrusting it unceremoniously into his robe.

He twirled away, holding his elbows out a little to make his robes billow. Fine. If they were so adamant that he would take part, then he would show them all.

He stormed through the corridors, swept into his empty classroom, summoned a plain parchment and quill, and wrote the first draft. He hoped to initiate contact – after all, who would think that Snape would write the first message, or any at all?

" **Good morning, imbecile. For the next month, you will be the unfortunate recipient of a carefully crafted persona designed to humiliate you to the highest degree, whilst causing myself the least amount of pain possible."**

Satisfied, he translated the note onto the enchanted parchment after a little filtering: "Hey."

He waited exactly sixty seconds for a reply before stuffing both parchments into the pocket of his waistcoat. He would not be so careless as to leave any trace.

Twenty minutes later, he was back to teaching and taking off points with gleeful discrimination. Through the morning lessons, his animosity toward the parchments grew steadily until he was ready to curse the next child stupid enough to think he would not notice their scribbling and whispering. Lunch could not come soon enough.

His reply didn't come until halfway through his first lesson after the break, which annoyed him somewhat but increased the chances of his pen-pal being in Slitherin or Ravenclaw. Someone perhaps a little tolerable, who would think before writing.

He barked at Crowley to keep his eyes on his cauldron before taking the gently vibrating parchment out.

It read "Hello, how are you?"

Tch, mundane.

The children piled out quickly after the lesson's end, and he replied before the next lot of imbeciles could invade.

" **I am peeved that you're so terribly boring so far, as this does not bode well for my patience in the coming month. Please please please be a little more interesting or I'm going to Avada us both."**

" _Let's skip intros, tell me something cool about you!"_

The next reply came as he was marking first year essays that evening. He had skipped dinner in favour of brewing, and it was now gone seven.

"I can make ice sculptures?" read the parchment.

Oh goody, Severus thought. He rolled his eyes and fetched his draft parchment.

" **Your ability to cast simple transfiguration spells is about as outstanding as your poor attempt at humour, but at least you're not likely to be a first year. The question mark on the end is also worrying – can you, or can you not in reality make ice sculptures?"**

" _Me too. That makes you at least fourth year, right?"_

The reply was quick. "You said no intros. Tell me something cool about you, too."

Something cool? Well, he should have been prepared for that. Students without imagination were bound to send his questions back at him. He made a mental note not to ask anything he wouldn't want to answer again.

" **I have no qualities a teenager at Hogwarts could possibly find 'cool', unless they are stupid enough to count the number of people I have been able to wound or kill in my lifetime, admittedly with a flair not many could achieve."**

" _I don't think I'm very cool..."_

It could do no harm to sound a little shy, could it?

The reply was even swifter than before. "No way! I'm sure you are. There's something cool in everyone, that's how I see it."

Merlin, so it was a Hufflepuff after all.

" **You're an idiot."**

He spent nearly half an hour trying to think of a way to translate that, but there really wasn't anything else he could say so he copied it across as it was.

The next morning, he rubbed that message out and hoped his pen-pal had not seen it. He replaced it with a scribbled _"Good morning"_ , his usual spidery scrawl hidden by the cheerful looking round script he had designed just for this purpose. He didn't even connect up the letters, which gave him a bit of a buzz if he was honest - proper writing had been hammered into him early in life, and it felt good to rebel even in the tiny things.

He was overseeing the third year Slitherin-Griffindor class, watching the imbeciles stir their concoctions the wrong way and occasionally remarking on the more dangerous methods of mucking up potions, when the parchment in his pocket next fluttered. He cast a quick look around to check that it was not from any of his students, but they had too much sense to be caught playing games in class by now.

Finding himself impatient to continue with the charade, he strode to his desk and rearranged the parchments there so that he could hide what he was writing in the neat square if necessary.

"Bored in defence class. How is that even possible?" it read.

He felt his facial muscles trying to tug up one side of his mouth, and he rubbed his cheek with a thumb to take away the foreign feeling.

 **"With Lupin teaching, easily. Bar potions, it is the most interesting subject and it takes an imbecile of the grandest magnitude to make it as dull as one of his tweed jackets. Be grateful it is not Umbridge however."** He wrote on his draft parchment, before applying the usual filters.

 _"Yeah, Lupin is boring isn't he?"_

The words quivered, then melted off the page to leave droplets of ink on his desk. Ah, the honesty charm. It was shocking he hadn't activated it on the first day. He stubbornly wrote the message out again, but it was rejected a second time.

Fine, so he didn't find Lupin all that dull, but that was only because he was fascinated by lycanthropy and the potions challenge it gave him.

 _"Yeah, Professor Lupin's an idiot."_

His words became another pool on the desk and he sighed. Not a total idiot then, just more of an idiot than Snape. Which most people were, to be fair.

 _"Yeah, Lupin's annoying right?"_

Again, the words melted away. He scowled. "But I do find him annoying!" He muttered angrily.

After a few more attempts at criticism, he was getting fairly frustrated and the students were beginning to notice.

"Heads down, get on with it!" He barked at them.

Why couldn't he write anything about Lupin without getting ink all over the place? He wanted to write just one thing, to prove that the thoughts he thought he thought were what he really thought! The puddle grew larger and larger as his entire vocabulary was rejected, one word after another.

Lupin is Unpleasant.

Watery.

Imbecilic.

Puerile.

Vexing.

Repugnant.

Humdrum.

A danger to society.

Stale. Stupid. Sapless. Senseless. Spiritless.

Complacent. Cowardly! Weak!

 _A USELESS, FLOUNDERING, UNREFINED, ARTLESS, ANNOYING PRAT!_

Ink spilled over onto his lap, soaking through to chill the skin of his thighs. He breathed heavily through his nose, lips pressed into a tight line, and gripped the quill tightly with trembling fingers.

Finally, with rage verging on temporary insanity, he wrote _"Lupin is a sexy beast"._

When the letters failed to move, he resisted the sudden urge to throw his head against the desk.

A reply came before he had the chance to wipe out the words, and he let out a groan. How utterly humiliating. His original plan had been to reveal his identity at the end of the thirty days, but how could he do that now? He would have to leave the school, start a new life somewhere overseas. Even Azkaban would be better than having to stay at Hogwarts knowing that there was a student out there who had seen this.

The students tittered and he raised his head sharply. "I wouldn't laugh if I were you," he ground out slowly, "these are your essays I am marking."

That shut them up.

He turned over the parchment to see what had been written on the other side.

"A bit old for students, isn't he?"

Oh merlin, it was just getting worse. But hey, in for a knut, in for a sickle. He had to say something to make sure that his pen-pal never worked out who he was.

 _"Hey, don't laugh at my teenage crush!"_

If he was honest, that's what Lupin had been, once upon a time. And if he still thought that Lupin was an attractive man, then that was just... physical, a base attraction he would do best to ignore. It didn't mean anything at all.

At least his pen-pal was certain to be convinced he was another student now, not that he'd given them reason to think otherwise. It was simply common sense to emphasise the message.

"I'm not laughing."  
 _  
"Good."_

"I'll tell you my crush too, if it would make you feel better."

Augh, he didn't want to know who any of his students fancied, thank you. 

**"I think I have suffered enough for one lifetime, thank you."**

 _"No thanks."_

They were both silent for the rest of the morning, and Snape was glad that the conversation was over with.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

At lunch, the professors were all a-babble making guesses at who their pen-pals were. Predictably, Trelawney and Hagrid had both given themselves away, the former by being too much herself and the latter by writing "HELO THIS IS HARGRED". Both were now being hounded for help with homework, and while Sybil was being typically vague, Hagrid seemed all too happy to spell out the answers for his lucky student.

Minerva was convinced her correspondent was in Slitherin, but was doing her best to be amicable despite that fact. Albus smiled down on her with twinkly eyes, making Snape feel a little sick. Flitwick was yet to make a definite guess since his was not very talkative. Sinistra had actually caught her pen-pal writing her a message in her own class, so she knew for certain it was a second year Griffindor by the name of Pendle Huws.

Lupin was adamant his pen-pal was a girl in Griffindor, and he commented as well that Snape's must be in Hufflepuff, from the deathly glares he had been directing at their table.

Snape huffed, unaware that he had been glaring. Only cataloguing possibilities.

Then Hooch declared that her pen-pal had already admitted to a crush on her. Snape almost dropped his fork, and beside him Lupin stiffened. "And how did you respond?" he asked.

Hooch laughed "I said I can see why!". Minerva choked on her soup. 

Slowly, over the next two weeks, the messaging somehow took over his life. The first thing he did when he woke was check the parchment. He would then check it again after washing; before breakfast; after breakfast; in class before the first lesson; between and during every lesson and break. While brewing in his personal lab, he left it leaning against a jar so that he could see messages even when he had no free hands. The last thing he did every night was say good night.

The realisation that a slow takeover had occurred was disturbing, but he was loath to stop. It was harming no one to have a little everyday chatter every now and then. Perhaps he wouldn't feel the need for it so much if the other professors would invite him for tea or a drink of an evening.

Half a month passed, full of inane chatter. Likes and dislikes, food and classes and future plans. Questions carefully dodged or honestly answered.

"Why do quidditch teams all have alliterative names?"

 **"Because they are idiots."**

" _It sounds more appealing, I guess."_

"Pork chops three times this week. Where is the lamb?"

 **"I happen to favour pork chops, though a succulent slow-cooked gammon would not go amiss."**

" _Yeah it's time for a change already."_

"Did you see that Slitherin beater hammer Casey across the head? Ref must be blind!"

 **"Blind, or under a temporary and harmless charm of my own devising..."**

 _"I saw it!"_

"What's your favourite animal?"

 **"Anything with more brains than it takes to come up with that asinine question."**

 _"I'm not fussy, really."_ He wrote, then added " _You?"_

"I'd never admit it to my friends, but I really love snakes."

Hm. Someone who would never admit to liking snakes. Perhaps a Griffindor was possible, then.

 _"Do you have a favourite breed?"_

"I don't know breed names. There's this black one I like, but it's known for its bad temperament."

Hmm, he had to agree that black coloured snakes were often the most beautiful, but he could think of none off the top of his head that were particularly temperamental. He was partial to the Eastern Mudsnake, himself.  
 _  
"I quite like snakes too."_

He was getting used to finding free moments in his day to write, and he discovered that he quite liked playing this part. He'd been a spy before of course, but he'd never made a positive persona. It was either Snape the death eater or Snape the annoyingly-on-our-side-bastard. This was refreshing.

As the full moon approached however, he became busy with brewing the wolfsbane potion, as well as the winter's order for pepper-up. He must have sent only two or three apologetic messages a day all that week. 

He wasn't looking forward to giving the potion to Lupin this month.

He found it awkward enough being alone with the man, particularly after his confession a week earlier. Not that it was a confession in the usual sense of confessing. Lupin was still ignorant of it, and hopefully would be forever. And he hadn't declared undying love, in any case. Just... Lust. Which was bad enough. He counted himself lucky that Lupin's still human nose couldn't smell it on him as their fingers brushed over the steaming goblet.

He promised himself that come the holidays, he'd go to some muggle bar in London and get laid. It had been a while, was all.

He conversed briefly with Lupin about their pen-pals, and found his fellow teacher was now also teetering between Hufflepuff and Griffindor. The werewolf joked that their pen-pals might even know each other, and how funny it would be when they found out they had both been talking with teachers.

Snape didn't find it at all funny that not one, but two Griffindors could hold blackmail-worthy information about him, but he attempted a laugh anyway. It gave Lupin a bit of a shock, that.

The conversation ended with Lupin's tired sigh and confession that he was glad the full moon had fallen on a Hogsmeade weekend this month. The students would be having too much fun with their illegally obtained butterbeer and their sweets and pranks to be bothered with the pen-pal game, and so no one would notice his two day absence.

Snape realised he would have to entertain himself this weekend, and was shocked to find that he couldn't remember what he had used to spend his time doing before the messaging began.

Brewing! He would brew. Poppy always needed extra stomach settling potions after Hogsmeade weekends, didn't she? And it was about time he experimented with flavours. When he was young, medicine had come in one flavour – disgusting – but with modern advancements in magical understanding there was no reason there couldn't be a variety. Somehow, knowing that his pen-pal would be one of the sufferers, he felt more charitable than usual.


	4. Chapter 4

(author's note: I'm going to see Fantastic Beasts after work tomorrow, so I'll update chapter 5 before I go to work ~8am instead of the usual ~6/7pm [UK time] :3)(also you know reviews are always welcome) ~3

CHAPTER 4

Strawberry was the easiest flavour to recreate, so that's what he spent his weekend on, though he dabbled in mint for a few hours before sending the potions up to the infirmary with a house elf. It was Sunday afternoon, and he had not yet received any correspondence, so he spent a while more making chocolate flavoured muscle relaxants and pain relieving potions for Lupin. Just to pass the time, of course. He wasn't attempting to win any favours, because he had no chance there. 

It was five o' clock when the parchment finally fluttered. He quickly finished bottling up Lupin's potions, then reached for the paper.

"What do you like so much about Professor Lupin?" the message read.

He pulled a wooden stool out from under the brewing table and sat. His quill tapped at the draft paper as he considered what to write.

 **"Absolutely nothing. He's... He's lots of things that darned paper would never allow me to write, but I stand firmly by my beliefs. And for some reason I have spent much of this afternoon making potions for his comfort despite the fact that there is nothing I like about him at all."**

 _"I just want to forget I ever told you that."_

Minutes passed, with Snape sitting in silence, quill in hand. He felt drained, and it appeared that he wasn't the only one.

"Please, I feel like death. Cheer me up?"

He sighed.  
 **  
"Fine, against my better judgement and despite the fact you deserve all the misery you are feeling from your overdose of illegally obtained alcohol, sweets or both, I will tell you if only to stop you from asking again. He is not unbearably stupid when compared to others of my acquaintance, and he at least attempts to be civil to me despite the fact I tried to have him expelled as a student, and successfully had him sacked as a teacher the first time around, though this is likely due to his dependence on me for wolfsbane rather than actual tolerance for my personality. I may also have a small fetish for scars, and would like very much to lick every inch of his delicious body..."**

Even on the scrap parchment, he quickly scribbled out that embarrassing line.

 _"Ok, but you are never allowed to talk about it again, ever. He's clever and kind, and as I said before - a sexy beast."_

He rubbed the sand from his eyes. He was too tired for this, saying things he shouldn't say. It was only going to make things worse come the end...

"He is a beast though, as in a real monster. How can you fancy that?"

He scowled at the parchment, anger suddenly rising against this stupid, judgemental student who he was now absolutely certain could be in no other house but Griffindor. How dare they talk that way about a professor of Hogwarts! His wand was out and he was halfway to incendio'ing the parchment before he managed to get his emotions back in check.

A good thing it was a Sunday and he had no students to teach, or they would have all found themselves writing ten foot essays on the frozen ground outside. In their socks.

He couldn't even begin to write a note he thought could get the message across without sounding very much himself, and it took a few minutes to collect himself. He got up, paced to the fireplace and back a few times.

Finally, he put quill to paper. It was an effort to keep up the disguised handwriting. _"The only person who gets to decide if he's a monster or not is him, and he chooses every month not to be one. So shut up."_

Riled up as he was, he huffed with annoyance when no reply was imminent. 

He placed Lupin's potions in a rack, and decided that he needed to walk off the fury. Instead of summoning a house elf, he set off for the man's quarters. He left the parchment behind, not wanting to so much as look at it. If they thought that badly of Lupin, with his amicable personality, then merlin knew what they would say about Severus. Death Eater on parole, should never have been allowed to see the light of day, let alone to teach and have influence over children.

And every word would bloody well be true, damn it.

The portrait guarding Lupin's quarters was of Gilderoy Lockhart of all people. The man had painted the monstrosity himself, which showed him painting another Lockhart. Both held that grating smile. Snape couldn't understand why Lupin hadn't had it replaced after taking over the man's quarters.

"Lockhart, tell Lupin I'm here, would you." he said.

"Of course, professor. Fine fellow he is, for a werewolf. Of course I've met many a beast myself, wrestled one with my bare hands in Scandinavia once you know. Vicious creature mind you, they all are at this time of the month, but not a match for me." Lockhart flashed a smile, and disappeared from the frame before Snape could attempt to punch him in his smug face. The painted Lockhart winked at him.

He reappeared mere seconds later. "He says to come right in, but before you do a bit of advice. Silver doesn't really work but I once met a woman in the Maldives while I was hunting banshees back in eighty two, who swore by-"

Severus pushed the frame open and stepped inside before he could hear any more of Lockhart's rubbish. He had only just managed to get his anger back under control.

"Lupin," he barked upon entering the unfamiliar rooms. "I have potions for you."

The layout was similar to his own quarters at first glance, albeit brighter from the orange October sunlight streaming in through twin windows. The portrait hole opened up into a living area with kitchenette to one side. A cream marble fireplace dominated the room, and there were two doors leading off to either side of it. Judging by the placement of windows along the left wall, the left door should lead to the bedroom and the other to the bathroom.

"Ah yes, I'll be right with you." Lupin called, his voice rough and oddly pitched.

Snape stepped closer to the bedroom door, from which the noise had emanated. "Don't be absurd, you're recovering from the transformation. There's no need to get out of bed on my behalf."

His heart beat a little faster as he approached, reaching out a hand to turn the handle.

The room was lighter than he had thought it would be, with the curtains tied open. Lupin sat on the edge of his bed, obviously about to get up before Snape opened the door.

Snape opened his mouth to speak, but several seconds passed by without anything coming out. Finally:

"You're crying."

Lupin rubbed his eyes and wiped the tears from his cheeks with his palms. "Yes, sorry, it's not... I mean, it's fine, Severus. I'm glad, happy, sorry. Just – are those pain relieving potions I see?"

Snape started, almost dropping the potion rack. "Of course. There's muscle relaxant as well." He said, glad of the opportunity to look away. He fiddled with the rack, adjusting the bottles so that the labels faced the same direction, then the opposite. Lupin was sitting there, half naked, scars on show, emotions on show. Vulnerable. He didn't know what to do with himself. He felt a strong urge to... something. Whatever it was, it was a possessive feeling, and protective. Like being angry all over again, but different. The bottles tinkled under his shaking hand.

"Bring them here then, let me at them." Lupin said, and Snape looked up to see that he had put on a shirt. He regretted not getting an eyeful when he had the chance, but then what was the point in torturing himself?

Snape did as asked, and placed the potions on Lupin's bedside table next to a stack of tatty-covered books. He gave only a quick glance to the werewolf's still pink-rimmed eyes before looking away again. He wondered what Lupin must think of his sudden fascination with the grain of the wooden bedposts.

His attention was brought back suddenly when the man, who had never struggled to swallow a potion before in the entirety of their acquaintance, choked. "I-it's chocolate," he gasped out.

The potions master refused to blush. Refused...

He tried a sneer instead. "An experiment. Don't get too excited – next month is peppercorns."

Lupin frowned. "I hate peppercorns," he said, voice still hoarse from choking. "How did you know I hate peppercorns?"

Damn!

This time, he didn't manage to keep the blush down. He turned away, stacking the empty potion vials back into the rack. "Everyone knows, Lupin. Your gurning is legendary amongst the staff."

"Oh."

"If there's nothing else, I have potions to brew. Some of us can't afford to lie about doing nothing every month." He said quickly, making his way to the door without another glance.

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry for keeping you," Lupin said.

Severus strode back through the quarters, ignored Lockhart again and shook his head to dispel the feeling that he had failed some kind of test.

It was hours later that he finally felt calm enough to read whatever spew his pen-pal had come up with next, but he found instead only two words.

"Thank you."

For what? He frowned again. He had obviously missed something important. He turned the parchment over, but his own words had already faded away. What had he said that could possibly have made his correspondent grateful? Or was it sarcasm?

Whatever the answer, they didn't speak again until he received a message in the middle of detention on Wednesday evening. "Bored again," it read, and they began again.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

On Monday the second of December, Snape awoke to the realisation that there were only four days left until the end of the pen-pal event. This thought blossomed in him an uneasy feeling that pulled at his stomach all day and nestled in the back of his mind like an uncomfortable weight.

He had to do something about the sexy beast situation.

On Tuesday, last lesson before lunch, he wrote an assignment on the board of his Slitherin-Griffindor class and then walked away. The students showed due respect by waiting until he was almost at the end of the corridor before erupting with noise. He didn't flinch, only continued his long strides up the stairs and out of the dungeons. He had a plan. Sort of.

He needed to find out who his pen-pal was. They held intimate information about him, and he couldn't trust Albus not to force some sort of reveal on Friday. Secrecy had only ever been the old man's forte when it was his own reputation on the line. Snape's had always been surplus to necessity.

By Monday morning, the entire student population could know. He needed blackmail material. Something good. But he couldn't get it until he knew who the damned child was.

So it was that he found himself outside the defence classroom in the same lesson slot during which he had given away said intimate information in the first place. Inside, he could hear screams followed by laughter, then screams and laughter again. He vaguely recalled Lupin talking about boggarts recently.

He wondered if he should knock, but had no excuse for either his presence here or absence from his own classroom. He opted instead for a notice-me-not charm that would fool the students at least. Surely Lupin would understand his desire to find his pen-pal, even without specific reasoning.

The boggart was a giant hand reaching out for a blonde sixth year Ravenclaw when he slipped inside. Her somewhat muffled riddikulus sent its fingers twirling away in a cloud of rainbow streamers and confetti.

Lupin met his eye from across the room with only the lightest of inquisitive frowns, the only person to have noticed his entrance. Snape paused for a moment, unsure as to what the appropriate action was. Perhaps a nod? Some disturbing instinct long buried decided to surface at that moment however, materialising on his face as a wink of all things.

Lupin had only a second in which to look stunned before the boggart demanded the attention of a responsible teacher.

Merlin. What was wrong with him recently? Snape suppressed more house-elf urges to throw his head against the nearest object capable of breaking his skull.

The boggart had quickly turned confetti into spiders dangling from ceiling webs. They wafted ominously, as if for a breeze. Then they were sliding down on threads of silk, and the dark atmosphere sent a shiver down even Snape's spine.

The Hufflepuff responsible stuttered the spell twice before he was swept aside by the next child in line, mere moments before the spiders reached him. Instantly, they became wide-jawed snakes, and though there was barely time for a syllable, Miss Irons strutted away with a smug look and a mass of jelly snakes on the floor behind.

A likely candidate then, if not for the fear of snakes. Unless she was mortally afraid of brown snakes only.

The lesson continued in much the same fashion – fear, laughter, screams, stuttering, more laughter, chocolate all round, and Lupin sent them all off ten minutes early to recuperate before transfiguration.

Severus waited in the corner until the door slammed shut behind the last child.

"Fancy having a go?" Lupin asked.

He shuddered. "No, thank you. I know what I would see." In fact, he didn't. At different stages in his life, he had seen Albus, Voldemort, Lilly and his father. With all but one dead, he had no idea what shape would form.

Lupin moved back to his desk, shuffled papers to make room for tea.

When it was ready, Lupin poured and they sat in awkward silence for a few minutes. Then Lupin said, "You winked at me."

Severus could think of no justification. "Yes," was all he could reply.

As they fell back into silence, he realised that it was his turn to attempt communication. "I have reason to suspect that my pen-pal is in that class," he explained. He should have been looking up at Lupin, but the memory of his embarrassing message kept his eyes trained on the glittering rim of his teacup.

"Ah yes, I had assumed it was something like that," Lupin replied. "Why don't you tell me about them, and we'll see if I can whittle it down for you. Which house?"

Snape shrugged lightly. "I had thought she was in Griffindor."

"Well I can guarantee you that there have been no Griffindors in here this afternoon. Barring me, of course."

"I did see. Perhaps Hufflepuff then."

Lupin pursed his lips, and Snape looked away again. "You're certain it's a she? Has she said as much?"

"Not outright, no. But the tone and chosen topics lead me to think so. She is quite bold, but not one of the kind types. And judgemental, but humble. I had thought Miss Irons, but it doesn't fit. Who would you say is the most honest of your class? Not in the spiteful way, just you know..."

When he looked back up, Lupin was hiding a smile behind his teacup.

"What?"

"No, nothing," the werewolf replied, shaking his head but still stifling the same smile.

Snape frowned, half rose from his seat. "What is it? I didn't come here to be teased."

"No, no no! I apologise." Lupin leapt to his feet as well. "Please, sit. I was only thinking that it seems you've made a friend."

"A friend?" Snape said incredulously. "With a Hufflepuff? And a student, no less! They're a lot of pig-brained idiots."

Lupin smiled again, leaning back into his chair. "Whatever you say."

"What about yours then?" Snape challenged. "Have you worked it out?"

"Not a clue. I'm almost afraid to find out at this point."

A-ha! So Snape wasn't the only one to have let out personal information. "Why?"

"Don't laugh, but... Well, I think mine might fancy me."

A chill went down Snape's spine. A lot of cogs were turning, and slowly they seemed to be stopping in some really awful places. He didn't laugh, not even close. The only Griffindor in this classroom... Ill during the full moon... It could only be – except no, that would just be too cruel. He would never live it down. "Tell me about them," he said.

Lupin sighed, put his tea back in its saucer. "I don't know what to say..."

"Adjectives." Snape replied, with all the usefulness his suddenly single-focussed mind could muster.

"Right, of course. Silly me," Lupin muttered, then looked up at the ceiling and tapped his fingers on the desk. "The opposite of yours, I suppose. Very kind, and shy. Probably some confidence issues there, they might even be bullied. They seem to have a lot of time to write in the evenings, so not someone with many friends..."

Snape let out a relieved breath. That didn't sound like him at all. Kind? Shy? Confidence issues? There was not a single person alive who would describe Professor Severus Snape as such. "What else?" He asked.

"Quite an uplifting person to talk to, really. They remember all the little details, likes and dislikes. I feel like they genuinely care for me." Here he stopped, glanced at Snape. "You must think me foolish."

The potions master realised that his hands were clenched. "Yes, well. You know what I'm like." His voice was clipped, cold, and he wished that he could make it otherwise. Something dark and icy seemed to have gripped his lungs.

Lupin frowned. "Severus, I didn't mean to-"

An alarm sounded, and Snape hastily pulled out his wand to silence it. He was going to be late for his next lesson. He stood, almost knocking the desk in his rush to leave. He didn't so much as turn at the door for a good bye or thank you for the tea.

All the way to the dungeons, he was fuming. He seethed through the lesson, almost making a new record for points taken, and sent at least one child off in tears. He missed dinner in lieu of spoiling potion after potion stirring too hard or flinging the ingredients in half-chopped.

Why was he being so-? Augh! The cauldron in front of him exploded, barely leaving him time to manage a shield. He was thrown onto the flagstones, panting but unharmed. As his heart beat slowed, his anger seeped away.

Jealousy was not an unfamiliar feeling to him. He had always had less than others – turning up to school with his mother's twenty year old robes skimming the floor; clearing and re-using the same parchments for essays so that by the time the year was through, they were falling to pieces; losing the first person he had loved to that silver-spoon-in-his-mouth dickhead James Potter; being simultaneously the worst thought of and most hard working member of the Order; getting paid a pittance that barely covered his personal ingredient and clothing costs, while the other professors were given generous stipends for their work.

He was the butt of the joke. The wrong end of the spoon. Always. So there was no need for him to feel particularly angry about it now. Nevertheless, he did.

Lupin had spoken so gently of his pen-pal that Snape knew two things at once. Firstly, it could not possibly be him, for who would ever speak of him so? And secondly, Lupin preferred the pen-pal to Snape – which should have been obvious in the first place! He should prefer anyone in the world to Snape, as everyone else seemed to do.

"I can be an uplifting person," he muttered angrily, to the ceiling above. "And I'm _so_ sorry for not having confidence issues!"

He lay on the floor of his laboratory for a while longer, until all thought had ceased. It was fine. There was no change.

So what if Lupin preferred some student to him? In four days' time, the event would be over and the pair would never speak to each other again. Everything would go back to normal.

Including Snape.


	6. Chapter 6

(fantastic beasts was so gooooood omfgwohvhoshswldkfjuwhgewfoubcwejh go see it.)

CHAPTER 6 – final chapter 

By Thursday, Snape had given up on finding his pen-pal. Even if he were to ask them their name, there wouldn't be time to find blackmail-worthy information about them. All he could do now was refuse to divulge his own identity, and hope that Albus would allow it.

He was barely himself all day, thinking about it. The students were quieter than usual – because an angry Snape was an everyday occurrence, but a silent Snape was a whole other beast. They kept their heads down and avoided him in the halls. No snivelling first years came to him at lunch missing their parents, no sixth years asked him to get them out of detention with Hagrid. Not even Pomfrey bothered him for the pox relievers he could see they would soon need.

The last day crawled by for Snape. He found that any joy he had taken in speaking with his pen-pal was gone, stolen by the knowledge that it was all about to end. They, on the other hand, only doubled their efforts.

"Tomorrow's the last day, remember. We should talk as much as possible today! I'll miss sending all these little notes."

"I wonder if we'll get a manuscript at the end, for posterity. Everything we ever said to each other, you know?"

Snape doubted it, and seriously hoped not, which meant it would probably happen.

"Most people aren't even using the parchments any more, have you noticed? It makes me feel like I really stand out." 

He hadn't noticed it, but now that it had been mentioned... At lunch, the tables were a little more jumbled than usual at lunch. Ravenclaws here, Slitherins there. No order at all – he scowled at them all.

"The feast tomorrow will be good. There should be gammon. You like gammon."

Well, that was one thing.

"I hope you don't mind staying anonymous at the end, I don't want the knowing to ruin it." 

Hallelujah! Though he did feel a little peeved that he hadn't been able to work out who it was he'd been talking to all this time. If he couldn't solve it now, the puzzle would likely bother him for the rest of his life.

Just like everything else, really.

He was having a thoroughly miserable day. He was late to dinner after spending longer than usual clearing the classroom, and the only space left was between Lupin and Minerva. He sat, itching with the urge to apologise to them both for having the displeasure of sitting next to him.

Through the meal, he sat quietly and stabbed at his food, hair falling to either side of his face so that it wasn't possible for anyone to attract his attention or make eye contact. Ten minutes later, he heard a small sigh to his left, and the rustle of cloth as Lupin stood. "Severus," he said.

Snape turned to look at the man, but didn't speak.

"Would you care for a drink? I've brandy in my quarters." Lupin's expression was open and amicable, so naturally Snape was suspicious. What did the man want? Couldn't the werewolf see that he wished to be _alone_?

"No, thank you," he replied with a carefully civil voice.

Minerva nudged him from the other side, causing a ripple of offence to pass through him. "Severus, stop your moping, really! You have the entire school on edge about naught at all." She was possibly the only person capable of speaking to Severus Snape in that tone.

He resisted the urge to pout, and crossed his arms instead. "I am not moping!"

"Good, then you'll be going to enjoy a nice brandy with Remus, won't you? Seeing as you're not moping like a _prepubescent child_ ," she said, eyes daring.

"Fine. Yes," he replied through gritted teeth. He wasn't a child, nor did he act like one!

"Good," she smiled.

"Good," he fired back, forcing an ugly smile to his face. He then turned to Lupin. "Come along, _Remus_. We mustn't keep the brandy waiting."

The walk to Lupin's quarters was short, but Snape felt his energy leaving him again on the journey nonetheless. They walked in silence, steps perfectly in sync.

Lupin didn't even hide his password, an act of trust that did not go unnoticed.

They sat in the two armchairs by the fire, and Snape briefly wondered who usually took this place. Who did Lupin have over of an evening? The crystal cut brandy set was clearly set out for two. Lupin poured.

Drinking in front of a hearth was usually a calming experience, but Snape was too tense. Suspicious, even. Silence stretched out between them, though the other man seemed comfortable enough with the situation. "What is it?" Snape asked.

"Brandy," Lupin replied, quick as a snitch.

"What do you want? Why am I here?"

Lupin looked at him, a slight frown forming between his brows. "Because you like brandy, one would assume."

Snape clenched his hands in exasperation. "What. Was the Purpose. Of inviting me." He knew that he was being difficult, trying to find fault in everything. He hadn't used that voice on another adult since Potter had come to visit in the summer. Needless to say, the boy had not been back since.

The werewolf sighed, holding his glass up so that the flames reflected in its many surfaces. He stared into it as he spoke. "I'm lonely," he said. "I know you'll find this childish and stupid, but I am. I'm going to miss talking to my pen-pal every day. I don't want to know who they are, and I certainly don't want them to know it was me they were talking to all along. But I will miss the company."

Snape understood, but he would never say as much. He had pride, after all. "Get a grip," he said instead. "Tomorrow it will be over, and we will finally have peace and quiet."

Peaceful quarters in which to study, mark essays and drink by himself. Quiet days through which he would teach and brew, isolated as he had ever been. And everything would go back to the way it was, the way it should have been this month as well. Besides, he'd done what he set out to do.

Snape had made a point to the entire school, lasting all 30 days without being discovered. He would feel triumphant in the morning, he told himself. Triumphant and relieved. For certain...

The next morning at breakfast, he felt none of those things. He was tense, had barely slept a wink after leaving Lupin's quarters. It would be just like Albus to force a discovery, and he had watched his parchment like a hawk since waking, should their names suddenly appear.

Presently, the hall hushed, students turning up their pale faces to listen to the standing headmaster.

Oh well, thought Snape. There's always Azkaban.

"Let me begin by thanking you all for humouring me in this little game," the old man boomed, while somehow keeping the gentleness of his voice. "I hope that you have all found insight into each other and yourselves, and that inter-house and cross-year friendships made during the past month will continue to grow. There is much wisdom to be gained from those around us, and we must take care never to ignore the knowledge that is offered by any mind – even by those we may consider our enemies or rivals."

Albus snuck a glance at Snape here, which was carefully ignored. "Finally, as we celebrate our new friendships, I would take this opportunity to congratulate each and every one of you. We may all be very pleased to note that from the entire population of Hogwarts, only two chose not to disclose their real identities before this morning. This was a great achievement beyond my expectations, and as such I have requested the house elves make special preparations for the feast. Enjoy!"

The man half sat, then as if on a whim, stood quickly once more. "Oh, and by the way. Lessons have been cancelled for the day." 

With a swing of his purple-robed arms, the long tables were filled with colourful foods that sparked or danced, and the hall was filled with a roar of cheers. Snape quickly speared a pork chop that looked like it was about to do the limbo under a breadstick, suddenly feeling quite buoyed. No lessons meant he could spend all day reading, or have a long weekend in Pembrokeshire somewhere. St David's perhaps, or Newport. Not to mention the fact that he had successfully kept his identity hidden.

Hah. Just him and one other, the only people of intelligence in the entire school.

Just him... and... well, it had to be his pen-pal because they hadn't revealed their identity to him... But hadn't Lupin just been saying that he had not disclosed his identity either? Perhaps he had lied, or Albus was mistaken.

He looked up to the headmaster, who twinkled back at him for a moment before letting his gaze focus further behind with a pleased smile.

Snape followed that gaze, round to where Lupin sat to his right, staring hard at the food he was cutting up more than necessary while his cheeks and ears were flushed bright red.

Oh Merlin, no. There was no worse outcome than this. Lupin looked up, sensing his gaze, and it all clicked in place. Of course it was him, it could only have been him. Wait, but that would mean-

They spoke at the same time. 

"You think I'm sexy?" / "You think I have _confidence issues_?"

A few seats along, a choking noise was cut off as Hooch knocked Minerva on the back and a soggy roast potato flew across the hall.

(And they lived ever after with some occasions of happiness between the constant misunderstandings and the passive-aggressive arguments over how to correctly fold shirts.)


End file.
